


Broken Glass

by CanadianSummer



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Arguments, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hosea's tired, John's poor coping with disappointment and anger, Shooting Guns, pre-game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CanadianSummer/pseuds/CanadianSummer
Summary: John manages to convince Arthur to help him practice his shooting, despite the fact that he isn't needing it and Arthur's having a hard time doing anything that isn't sleeping lately, and things don't go as planned.
Relationships: John Marston & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	Broken Glass

**Author's Note:**

> A thing written from a Tumblr prompt "Lucky shot" - if anybody's interested, tiredcowpoke is the name on there.
> 
> This is mostly my headcanons on pre-game stuff, don't know how closely it all lines up in regards to ages and whatnot but yeah.

“Lucky shot.” **  
**

“I think you’re playin’ around with me.” 

“No I ain’t!”

“Well then how ‘bout you line up the shot _properly_ like I know you can do and stop wastin’ my time.” 

Immediately there was a huff that escaped the younger of the two, John scowling at Arthur from where the other had moved to situate himself against a tree. The pistol in his hand was a familiar weight, one he had gotten used to under the guidance of Hosea’s hand and Dutch’s instruction. The two of them had almost been rotating off in teaching him how to shoot, Arthur mostly keeping his distance. He would leave camp for extended periods of time before wandering back in, guarded about where he had been. 

John had just shrugged it off at first. _Whatever, wasn’t his problem._ However, something had changed recently, even Dutch and Hosea seemed a little slowed down by it. Perhaps more so Hosea, John picking up on him having a little less patience for his attitude during reading, not he _wanted_ to do the damn thing in the first place. They were thieves, not any sort of reading folk, but Dutch constantly tested and the proved that wrong. Arthur read and wrote quite a bit, too, and did it a lot. 

Not recently, however, John not wanting to admit to catching the shift in behaviour but it was damn well hard not to when he was so withdrawn and moody. Hadn’t been this bad since that Mary, but John didn’t know too much about all that. _Just yet_ , as he’d been warned. The teenager had just shrugged it off at the time, and John wasn’t all that much older currently when it seemed Arthur was going through something again. Yet, there hadn’t been any talk about what it was. Hosea knew, John could read it on his face and the way he tried talking with him, but John didn’t know. 

In a way it pissed him off, but he had a hard time explaining _why._

He had a hard time explaining to himself _and_ Arthur why he was doing this currently, too. John watched him with a tight brow, Arthur returning his gaze unwavering–John knew the look, it was the _“keep testin’ me, Marston, and you’ll regret it”_ look. He got it often, but at least it was something other than the way Arthur seemed to look through people a couple weeks ago. 

Raising his arm up, John turned toward the empty beer bottles they had set up along a broken log not too far out from camp. He knew he was testing his luck, standing wrong and Arthur’s reaction was almost immediate. 

“Legs apart, you’ll throw your shoulder. Ain’t Dutch and Hosea been teachin’ you?” 

“I dunno, maybe they ain’t,” John returned, “Not like you’re here to even know.” 

“This ain’t your first time, so how ‘bout you cut the bullshit and tell me what we’re actually doin’ out here?”

“ _Shootin’_ ,” John replied, “You blind or somethin’?”

“John, if you don’t start–”

Turning his head, John fired off a shot toward the bottles, the bullet hitting true like it had been doing recently, the bottle bursting into broken glass. He kept going, shooting the other and the next. Dutch had mentioned once that he was becoming a natural, would up there with Arthur in no time. He had just shrugged at the time, not sure how to take it. _Wouldn’t impress the bastard, anyway._ He used to care, used to bring him food when he was sick or too moody to sit with the other people in camp, used to take him riding. Arthur was his brother, much as John had a hard time admitting to that at points. John knew how to get under Arthur’s skin and he knew how to do the same for him, but something was just _off_ lately and nobody was saying or doing anything about it. 

He had gotten close to leaving with Mary, and people were ready to let him until that didn’t happen. John had wondered about that then, asked Dutch a couple times on why he was letting him but couldn’t get a solid answer from him that made sense. However, that didn’t happen and he knew Arthur was sad for a while but he seemed to be coming back around, but was leaving again for weeks at the time. _Something_ happened, and now he was back but he _wasn’t._ Not really. He was quiet, got pissed off easily and John had avoided him for a while after he almost chewed his head off for bothering him. 

Was probably just gonna leave again, the way he was acting. Didn’t want to be there, be a part of them. 

John, all the while, had kept firing off shots. Some hit bottles, some did not. He kept going until he could hear the click of empty chambers before a hand reached out and pulled the gun from his hand harshly, Arthur grumbling something under his breath as he walked out in front of him. John’s frustration and anger flared, his hands clenching. 

“What’s wrong with you?” he snapped, Arthur turning to give him a glare. 

“ _Me?_ You’re the one forcin’ me out here to take you shootin’ when you ain’t cooperatin’ and actin’ like _I’m_ burdenin’ _you._ ” 

“No, ain’t that,” John stated, “You been a miserable bastard lately. Won’t do nothin’ accept lay around. Why?”

“That’s none your concern, Marston.” 

“It is! You’re draggin’ everybody down with you, fightin’ all who’s tryin’ to help you. Hosea’s worried, Dutch’ll start insistin’–”

“You don’t know a thing you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” Arthur snapped, “Ain’t your concern.” 

“Why’d you come back?” John asked, tilting his head, “Actin’ like nobody matters to you no more. You’re probably just gonna leave again.” 

“Christ, where’d you get that idea from?”

“I ain’t stupid, I seen how you changed lately,” John remarked bitterly, “You hate it here so much, how ‘bout you just leave? They was gonna let you before with Mary.” 

“Marston, none of that concerns you so how ‘bout you stop talkin’?”

“How ‘bout you stop bein’ a rotten bastard? Give my gun back.” 

“No,” Arthur stated, tucking it into his own gun belt as John’s teeth clenched so hard his jaw hurt, “You’re angry and you’re bein’ reckless, though I ain’t got a clue on _why_ you is.” 

“Because you don’t care no more, so why should I care?” 

“John, for Christ’s sake…” 

John, not really caring for his response, charged forward and slammed himself into Arthur and sent him tumbling back a couple steps. More struggle to get his gun back followed, John having tackled, kicked, and punched Arthur a couple times during his stay with them. Arthur had a couple years on him, and was bigger than the scraggly teen that he was. John constantly ended up on his ass, and that was exactly the outcome this time. With some force, Arthur finally hooked an arm across his chest and sent him falling back onto the ground. John let out a short grunt, the pain in his back keeping him sitting for a moment as Arthur glared down at him, John’s gun still sitting in his holster. Mocking him. 

“Damn it, you done?” he growled, “You like gettin’ your ass kicked, John?”

“Shut up,” John snapped, gathering himself up to a stand, “Keep the damn thing.”

“The hell’s goin’ on out here?” Hosea’s voice came surprisingly quick behind the scuffle, stepping out from around a gathering of trees. 

“Arthur’s takin’ his anger out on everybody,” John snapped, “Don’t care ‘bout nobody but _himself._ ”

“How old are you? _Five?_ ” Arthur snapped back, stepping toward him. 

“Enough!” Hosea snapped, “Camp’s turned into a damn stage and everybody’s actin’ a fool. What’s goin’ on here?”

“John wanted me to teach him how to shoot but now he’s goin’ on ‘bout how I don’t care ‘bout anybody no more. Carryin’ on like a damn child.” 

“He’s seventeen, Arthur,” Hosea replied around a sigh, “Can’t you two just get along, haven’t seen you two do anythin’ together in months and now you’re fightin’ in the woods.” 

“Least it’s somethin’,” John muttered, Arthur’s expression unreadable but Hosea took John’s arm and pulled him along to let him cool down. He stumbled along a couple steps back into camp, Dutch watching on with a raised eyebrow but didn’t seem to want to get involved at the moment. 

“Arthur’s goin’ through a time right now,” Hosea stated, “Lost someone very important to him, he don’t need you shoutin’ at him over how he’s handlin’ that.” 

“Whatever,” John muttered, shaking his head before wrenching his arm from Hosea’s grasp, “Let me go.”

“Let him, Hosea,” Dutch called out, “John, go do _somethin’_ to calm down.” 

He didn’t need to be told once, John storming off toward his tent while fighting a tightness in his throat and the aching in his back from being tossed onto the ground. John didn’t want to admit it, but that was the most he’d heard or seen from Arthur in a while. Play fighting and sometimes not, it was common between them. Or it _was._

John missed him, and knowing he lost someone but having no idea who? Well, he had no idea how to take any of that.


End file.
